


This Fierce Machine

by Skew



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Antagonism, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6010579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skew/pseuds/Skew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as the First Order's highest-ranking stormtrooper isn't all victory parades and making worlds tremble at your feet. As Captain Phasma quickly finds out on being assigned to the under-construction Starkiller Base, taking over the galaxy involves a lot of mundane maintenance, petty bureaucracy, and learning to deal with some incredibly infuriating - not to mention infuriatingly attractive - co-workers.</p><p>(Phasma-centric, Phasma/Hux, and eventually other relationships which I'm not going to give away just yet. It's about 25% workplace comedy, 25% character development/speculative backstory, and 50% iddy self-indulgence where Phasma gets to dominate the fuck out of everyone but especially Hux.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Phasma was born to serve the Empire. When chaos and rebellion destroyed everything she held dear, she pledged her life to restoring its power. Stormtroopers were her only family, war her only love, victory her greatest pleasure. When she was informed that she was being assigned to Starkiller Base to oversee the training and organisation of its combat personnel, she had felt like destiny was calling.

What she got was _this_ banthashit.

"The wrong kind of snow?" she repeated slowly, although she had no doubt that she had heard correctly.

The engineer wrung his thin hands. "That's right, ma'am. This all-weather casing works just fine in dealing with snowfall every now and then, but every day here there's showers of fine powder snow that gets all in the gaps and clogs up the ventilation. We've removed the damaged sections, and I've put forward a request to get proper snow-proofing installed, but it'll probably take us fourteen days to have everything back to normal. That's even assuming the snow-proofing gets approved, as the whole reason we didn't have it in the first place was because Finances said it cost too much…"

Phasma had heard enough. "Leave it with me. You'll have it in seven days at the most."

The engineer let out a long breath, visibly relieved that this was now, officially, Not His Problem. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. Anything else?"

"Continue removing the damaged wiring and pass on the message to conduct checks on any other areas which might be affected. I expect a report on the full extent of the damage by the end of today."

A slight twitch of the engineer's eye betrayed some dismay or anxiety at not being as fully off the hook as he had hoped, but he wisely kept it to himself. "Yes ma'am."

"That is all. Dismissed."

This was not the start to the day that Phasma had envisioned. As always, she had planned a schedule which had no room for gaps. Wake, eat, wash, dress. Reveille at dawn. Simulator training straight after that. Daily intelligence briefing. If there were no immediate actions from the previous, lunch; if there were, down a nutritive beverage on the way to the control room. Small-arms drill in the afternoon. Patrol corridors during afternoon recreation period in order to make sure nobody misbehaved. Dinner while processing and filing the day's statistical reports. Evening exercise (today, a nice 5k run across the tundra to the east of Sector 4). Shower, polish armour, reply to any messages that couldn't wait until tomorrow, write tomorrow's schedule, and then to bed for precisely four hours of sleep.

Except that now it was almost halfway through what should have been designated simulator training time, and precisely zero simulator training had taken place because the power supply to the whole suite was, to use the technical jargon, completely buggered. Thankfully her officers had ably risen to the demands of the situation, and the troops who should have been training in the simulator were instead happily engaged in a game of Capture The Flag With Extreme Prejudice in the woods nearby. 

Perhaps it wasn't so bad. There would be a few days without statistical data, which would leave an ugly hole in the end-of-month charts, but Phasma had always believed that even the best simulation was no substitute for practical experience, and that her direct observation could tell her much more about individual troopers and their performance than reading numbers from a screen ever could. 

She hesitated. She had intended to immediately head inside and make a call to the Supply department, but the sounds of troopers' voices and the pew pew of blaster fire were making her reconsider. It was still a couple of hours before she had to be at the intelligence briefing, after all, and filling out a form wouldn't take that long. And she regularly participated in the simulator training, so it wasn't as if involving herself now would be acting out of line. Plus, it would probably be quite fun, and when was the last time she had fun around here?

Phasma switched her blaster to a non-lethal setting and made her way into a forest, charting a weaving path through the spindly conifers before leaping down to ambush two stormtroopers huddling behind a large rock.

"TF-4636, TF-2874, what have I said about watching one another's backs? If I were an enemy I would have shot you both and taken your place by now," she said. Unlike most of her troopers, well-camouflaged in Starkiller Base's snowy environs, it wasn't as it was hard to pick her out from a distance.

TF-4636 saluted. "Sorry Captain!"

"Don't apologise, just do better! Now, look over there – the other team have left that hill completely undefended and we have a chance to take it. Follow me!"

"Yes ma'am!"

Now this was more like it. Being out here in a real environment interacting directly with her men (a term which by Imperial tradition generally referred to all troops, regardless of their actual gender), noting who was reckless and who was timid, who responded instantly to orders and who hesitated, showing them how to fight the same way that she had learned. She was almost at the point of leading Green Team to a conclusive rout of Blue Team when she heard the ding of a notification in her ear. Red text scrolled across the internal display in her helmet: COME TO CENTRAL CONTROL ROOM IMMEDIATELY – HUX.

Phasma sighed.

"Okay, team, I think you can win this by yourselves from here," she said, addressing the small collection of troopers that had been following her like baby ducks. She clapped TF-4636 on the shoulder as a final gesture, and departed.

 

" _The wrong kind of snow?_ " General Hux repeated incredulously.

Since her assignment to Starkiller Base, Phasma had grown to really appreciate that wearing a helmet meant nobody could see when she rolled her eyes. "Yes, General. As I said, the all-weather protection is 'snow-proof' in the case of occasional snowfall in temperate or maritime conditions, not the demands of an ice-planet climate. The atmospheric control and power supply to the entire sector has been irreparably damaged by snow getting into the internal mechanisms and repeatedly freezing and thawing. Our engineers are already at work on installing a temporary replacement that will restore power to most of the affected area, but for safety and security, I have been advised that it would be unsafe to activate high-drain facilities such as the simulator suite until the replacement has been fully snow-proofed. I'm intending to personally submit an order later today, once Engineering have advised me of the full extent of the damage and precisely which components are required."

"Have Finances been made aware that you intend to make this order?" Hux said.

"I believe it was Finances who previously rejected the initial application to use snow-proof components, on the grounds of cost and efficiency," Phasma said. "In order to expedite the arrangements, I intended to approach the supply chain directly."

"You know the procedures, Captain. Your signature is enough to ensure that the request passes promptly through the usual processing mechanisms, without requiring you to divert time from your tasks."

"With respect, General, I have already been diverted from my tasks by the technical failure."

Hux's nostrils flared. "Yes. Convenient, that, considering the views you've previously expressed on the merits of simulator training."

"Are you accusing me of sabotage? The engineers can verify everything I've told you, and the decision to favour generic weatherproofing over specialised design was made long before I arrived here."

"Don't put words in my mouth," Hux said. "I'm merely noting that it's fortunate for you that this incident happens to permit you to undertake training in your own preferred manner. That you might, in fact, be so caught up in playing games in the snow that you forget to get around to this order you are so keen to make personally, just as you missed the intelligence briefing an hour ago."

Phasma ground her teeth. Her actions had been perfectly justified. If anything new had happened she would already know about it, and if they'd really needed her they would have sent someone to get her. But by allowing herself to miss an appointment, she'd given Hux something he could use as leverage, and to his breed of conniving rear-echelon busybody, that was like painting a target on your chest.

"So what would you have me do?" she said.

"Fill out a standard requisition form and send it right away. In fact, why don't I supervise you while you do it?"

"I know how to fill out a requisition form."

Hux smiled, or at the very least, his mouth turned up a little at the corners. "Indulge me, Captain."

 _I'll indulge you with a boot to the teeth, you revolting little vermin_ , Phasma thought. Nevertheless, she moved to follow him out of his office and down the steps into the main control room. 

As the door opened, they were startled by a sudden outburst of cheering. Someone threw a handful of streamers in the air. 

"General! Captain!" A junior lieutenant scurried to the bottom of the stairway, saluting them both. "You're just in time!"

Hux looked utterly affronted, the effect only enhanced when one of the streamers drifted down and settled on top of his head. "Just in time?" he said.

"It's Colonel Datoo's 40th birthday today. We were just about to go into the meeting room for a pot-luck lunch. You ought to see the cupcakes Comms Officer Pam made – she must have stayed up all night making those little edible TIE fighters!"

"Well, actually –" Phasma imagined that Hux was trying to come up with an objection, but was cut short when Colonel Datoo himself noticed their presence. He waved to them both. "General! And Captain Phasma, too! I'm so glad you could make it."

"Actually, Colonel, I'm afraid I'm just passing through, as I have some extremely important forms to sign," Captain Phasma said. "I'll owe you a drink the next time we're at the Officer's Club." She briefly turned to Hux, who still seemed to be working on his own alibi. "But of course, General, please don't let me get in between you and Comms Officer Pam's delicious cupcakes. I'll update you later."

And before anyone could say anything else, Phasma strode out of the control room and into the nearest elevator. Back under her own command again. For now.

 

The rest of the day, however, was no improvement. She led Fifth Legion through parade drill, and at least three troopers were noticeably out of step. There were wet and muddy footprints all around the doorway to Red Sector 2, and even after sending in a notification it was still a full four minutes and twenty-two seconds before a cleaning droid arrived to wipe the floor. One of the officer cadets addressed her as 'mom' instead of 'ma'am'. Again.

And as for the increasingly tiresome business of the simulator room power supply… It was a good thing that she had ignored Hux's insistence that all she needed to do was file the relevant requisition form and let the administrators handle the rest, because she was certain that all would have happened was that it would be bounced from desk to desk until it was either lost or forgotten. Instead she made a video call to the Supply department, who told her to talk to Finances, who told her to talk to Personnel, who sent her back to Supply again, until she finally walked straight into the Chief Supply Officer's office, commandeered his communication console, and talked directly to the manufacturer. And then she had to make a second call, half an hour later, when the Engineering department finally sent back their damage report and revealed that they would in fact require twice as much ice-proofing as she had estimated they would need.

Phasma was making her way back to her quarters, sore-headed and hungry, when she heard the unfortunately familiar sound of a lightsaber striking metal, and someone yelling,

"THE WRONG KIND OF SNOW?"

Phasma slowed her pace, approaching the doorway as quietly as was possible while clad in a full suit of chromium-plated armour. Both men in the room had their backs to her, Hux clenching and unclenching his fists by his side while Kylo Ren stood in what Phasma had come to think of as his 'action sulking' pose - in fighting stance, his lightsaber drawn and humming noisily, but doing nothing but glare at the wall a foot or two in front of him.

"Yes, that's what they told me," Hux said wearily. "I've already delegated the task of arranging repairs to Captain Phasma."

 _Delegated?_ Phasma thought, raising an eyebrow.

"How long will those repairs take?" Ren said.

"I don't know! She hasn't been answering my messages."

Ren turned on his heel, glowering at Hux. "I need that simulator room operational so that I can train."

"And I told you, Phasma's dealing with it!"

"This should never have happened to begin with. If it wasn't for your army of small-minded, tight-fisted, dull-witted bureaucrats..."

"Look, what do you want me to do?" Hux said. "Pull a new simulator room out of my arse? I'm trying my best, damn it!"

Ren smashed his lightsaber against the wall, sending out a shower of sparks that made Hux flinch and step back.

"If all you're going to do is complain and smash things, I'm leaving you to it!" he snapped, turning and storming out of the door - and right into Phasma.

"You!" he said, glaring up at her. "Why haven't you replied to my messages?"

"I've been busy," Phasma said calmly.

"I should hope so! When will the simulator room be working again?"

"New wiring and temporary protection should be in place within the next two days, and the ice-proof casing is on its way and will be with us in three days or less."

"Two days? That's far too long. I want the simulator room operational by tomorrow evening at the latest."

"With respect, General, the frost damage was particularly extensive in that sector -"

"Don't talk back to me, Captain."

Phasma took a deep breath, counting to ten in her head. She considered telling Hux about how many hours she had spent today in dull little offices talking to dull little people about wiring and fail-safes and type-3 transformers, and a multitude of other tedious things she barely knew nor cared about, all because trying to get anything out of the First Order's hideously tangled maze of administration was like trying to carve granite with a cheesegrater. She considered telling him that before her intervention the timescale had been in weeks, rather than days, and she had had to cajole and threaten to get it down to what it was now. But outward rage was a sign of weakness, she reminded herself, as the sound of Ren gouging holes in the wall drifted over from the other room. And Hux did outrank her, even if by far less than their respective titles would suggest.

"Tomorrow at the latest," Hux repeated. "See that it gets done."

"Yes, sir," Phasma said.

 

She couldn’t sleep.

Usually when Phasma was tense, all she needed was food, exercise, or a productive diversion. Tonight, however, she'd had her evening rations, taken a brisk run to the parade ground and back, and spent twice as long as usual polishing her armour, and it hadn't made the slightest bit of difference. No matter how hard she tried to keep her mind empty and calm, the day's conversations kept replaying in her head, voices overlaying voices, all excuses and accusations and unreasonable requests, and the underlying discomfort of now being dependent on variables that were out of her control. She needed a distraction.

She reached out and tapped a panel in the wall by her bunk, which sprang open to reveal a hidden drawer. She rummaged around inside, finding what she was after by touch alone - not a difficult task, as it wasn't shaped like anything else she kept in there. It was a small device, about the length and thickness of her thumb, with a slightly indented button set into the blunter of its two ends. When she pressed the button the device buzzed softly and silently, a light vibration that tingled against her fingertips as she used her other hand to pull her undergarments to one side. She slid the smooth tip of it over her clit, letting the gentle vibration work up her arousal before pressing the button to take it to a faster setting.

Normally she didn't think about anything in particular when she did this. Sex between stormtroopers wasn't frowned upon, as long as it didn't lead to pregnancy or emotional attachment, and neither was self-pleasure. Although there were certainly exceptions, it was recognised and accepted that for many individuals it was a bad idea to leave the libido completely ignored and unattended to, and that sexual desires and fantasies were something that no amount of long runs, cold showers and psytech conditioning could completely remove. 

Nevertheless, Phasma herself generally regarded masturbation as the mere scratching of a biological itch. Relations with others had always been very low down her list of priorities - something she hadn't indulged in seriously since graduating officer training, in fact, when she had decided to put aside anything that might distract her from the pursuit of rank and power. Her bed hadn't been always been empty in the years that followed, but she'd generally found that another body was no better at satisfying her desires than her own, and usually a fair bit worse. Sex was pleasant, and had in the past been astounding, but simple stimulation was usually enough to fulfil her needs.

This time was different. Despite her quickening heartbeat and the delicious pulsating sensations against her clit, her mind kept wandering from the task at hand. First she found herself rehashing old conversations, wondering how else the situation might have played out if she had said or done other things. That soon gave way to irritation as she reflected on how much easier it would be if she had command of the base and didn't have to deal with Kylo Ren's tantrums or Hux's pathetic attempts to assert his superiority. Were her faith in Supreme Leader Snoke's wisdom not absolute, his decision to allow such a pair of immature man-children to rise so high in the ranks would make Phasma seriously question his judgement.

She pressed the button on the vibrator again and pressed it harder against her clit. All she wanted was to come and to go to sleep, but even that didn't seem to be happening. She felt numb, and she blamed it on Hux because of the extra walking she had done that day. Which she wouldn't even have had to do if the base wasn't still being built and half the elevators permanently 'undergoing repairs', and if the place wasn't staffed with petty little tyrants like him.

Yes, it was all Hux's fault, she thought, turning the vibrator to its highest setting. It was hard to look at that smug face and not want to spit in it. If it wasn't for how tiresome it would be to deal with the aftermath, she would love to wrap her hands around that skinny white neck and squeeze. Maybe not enough to choke the life out of him completely, but certainly enough to make him gasp for breath and understand just how effortlessly she could break him. She wanted to see the fear in his eyes when he realised how weak he was, watch him struggle and kick when she lifted him off the ground, make him beg and plead and finally _sob_ , "I'm sorry, Captain, you were right."

And that mental image made her come harder than she had in years.

Phasma turned off the vibrator and opened her eyes, panting hard. _Congratulations,_ she thought. _You just found the only way to make things even worse._


	2. Chapter 2

Phasma stepped outside. Snow had fallen while she was sleeping, and the ground looked as clean and smooth as a fresh sheet of flimsiplast. Starkiller Base and its inhabitants did not operate on cycles of light and dark – as on ships, the shift roster was organised to ensure a constant number of operating staff, and the planet's present orbit did not correspond to the human circadian rhythm in any case – but as it happened, the sun was just beginning to rise.

She had already been awake for ninety minutes, her sleep abbreviated by restless dreams and unfinished business. Rather than waste her wakefulness on trying to get back to sleep, Phasma had decided to get up and respond to the datapad messages she had accumulated in the downtime. The downside of the base's constant operation was that she always missed things. The upside was that it looked like at least one of the simulator rooms would be in working order within the next 12 hours, which might get _some_ people off her back.

She had just enough time left before her next scheduled task to go for a run.

Having spent most of her life on spacecraft, running outside was still a novelty. The snow underfoot made for a tougher challenge than the treadmills in the gym could offer, and despite its slowing effect it still wasn't long before the buildings behind her were just grey smudges in the shadow of the mountains. Only the sight of the occasional patrol droid beetling past reminded her that every inch of this planet was under surveillance. Every now and then she would pass an engineer's marker post or one of the nubby little turrets that projected the base's defence shields and artificial atmosphere, but all of it was clean and silent and orderly. And, therefore, beautiful.

Phasma was glad for moments like this. They reminded her of the awe she had felt when she first arrived here. Before she was so thoroughly disappointed.

 

**Six Weeks Ago**

_There were no leaving celebrations or tearful farewells when Phasma left the_ Resurgent _. She wouldn't have had it any other way. Tomorrow a new Captain-commander would take her place, and after a short announcement to explain the change, her stormtroopers would carry on just as before. To make any more of it than that would be arrogant._

_The only gesture towards the possibility that the departure of the First Order's most senior stormtrooper from the ship on which she had served for seven years might be a momentous occasion was the solemn handshake she had received from Admiral Quane just before she boarded the shuttle._

_"Do us proud, Captain," he said, with the nearest thing to a genuine smile that Phasma had ever seen on the old man's battle-scarred face. She saluted him one last time._

_"You know I will, sir."_

_She would confess to having given in to the urge to look back as the shuttle departed the Star Destroyer's hangar, knowing that it was very unlikely that she would ever step aboard it again. The_ Resurgent _was the flagship of the First Order's fleet of new Star Destroyers, based on the classic Imperial-era design but equipped with the latest technology. Phasma had grown up and served on its predecessors, but it was on the_ Resurgent _that she had earned her reputation, not to mention the admiration and loyalty of many of the stormtroopers and officers she had personally trained. She'd miss the old girl._

_Or she would if she was weak-willed and sentimental enough to allow herself to feel nostalgia._

_Once the shuttle had accelerated to beyond lightspeed, Phasma's thoughts were only on the future. She had taken a keen interest in the Starkiller Base project ever since it was first announced. Many of the_ Resurgent _'s recent activities had been focused on locating and securing the mineral resources required to supply such an endeavour, and many of its most talented engineering staff had already been deployed there. Although doubts had certainly been raised about whether, given past history, the 'planetary superweapon' model was really tactically sound, the designs had made it clear. This wasn't just a bigger Death Star. This was a weaponised planet, with planet-scale defences and a planet's inherent solidity – no chance of being blown up by a light tap from an X-Wing. If all went to plan, it would be a weapon so fearsome it could win a war in a single shot._

_Phasma would be right there when that shot was fired. She would be there at the vanguard of the stormtroopers she would have personally trained when they walked into the ruins of the Senate and raised the First Order's flag. She would answer to no-one, save for the Supreme Leader (of course) and one other, an unknown variable – General Hux._

_She had a good feeling about Hux. She had never met Commander Brendol Hux in person, but in her Academy years she had been a keen student of his writing. She had once had the privilege of attending a lecture he'd given, and had been thoroughly impressed by his analytical mind and surprisingly charismatic personality. If his son had even an ounce of his father's intellect and ambition, he was an ideal choice to command an operation of this scale._

_The shuttle slipped out of hyperspace, and Phasma caught her first glimpse of her new home. It looked suitably grand. The shuttle took her over vast snowfields and deep, sinuous fjords, before coming to land on a flat plain bounded on three sides by towering mountains that shielded and partially concealed the buildings that formed the main living and working quarters of the base. A typically obsequious junior lieutenant greeted her as she emerged from the craft, and showed her the way inside._

_Although there was much more still to be done before the base would be at full operating capacity, these buildings were largely complete – a little sparse and utilitarian at present, perhaps, but no more so than some of the smaller and older types of Star Destroyer, and with clear indications that more improvements were on their way. Heads turned as she swept through the corridors, and stormtroopers instinctively stood to attention on seeing the chromium-plated armour. It was a hive of activity, from the techs busily installing new systems, to the swarms of clerks and officers monitoring data and discussing new plans, to the droids keeping every surface polished to a high gloss. Phasma thoroughly approved._

_After dropping her few possessions in her bunkroom, her next duty was to introduce herself to her stormtroopers and carry out an inspection of the ranks. General Hux would join her in this activity, before adjourning for an introductory briefing in private._

_At least, that was the intention. When she stepped out onto the parade ground, however, Phasma found her stormtrooper legions all present and correct, but General Hux very much absent. She checked the time. Checked it again. A couple of the stormtroopers fidgeted, and she made a mental note to find out their serial numbers and have them put on kitchen duty. After precisely fifteen minutes, she decided to go ahead without him._

_An hour later, Phasma had finished her introductory speech and inspection, and was in the process of heading indoors when someone knocked into her shoulder, hard._

_"Damn you, Ren, you've already made me late for this stormtrooper inspection, I don't have time for this!"_

_Before Phasma could so much as get out an indignant "Excuse me?", she was bumped into again by another individual, masked and clad in black robes, who rasped through a vocoder,_

_"I am sick of your evasions and excuses! It is unacceptable to allow your cat to infiltrate my quarters and leave mangled droid parts in my bed!"_

_"If you don't stop hassling me, I'll train her to shit in your boots as well!"_

_Phasma stopped and watched as the officer paused at the doorway. He frowned at the absence of troops on the parade ground, then at his datapad, and then at the robed figure beside him._

_"Where are they?" he said. "Where are my troops?"_

_"Why don't you ask your new Captain?" the person in black said._

_Phasma noticed, for the first time, the stripes of rank on the officer's sleeve, and the flash of red hair just visible under his cap. Her heart sank._

_General Hux did not look any more pleased to be seeing her. "Captain Phasma, I presume," he said stiffly._

_Phasma stood to attention. "General Hux."_

_Hux scowled. "I was scheduled to inspect the troops with you. Where are they?"_

_"You were not present at the scheduled time so I carried out the inspection and introduction myself. The troops have returned to their duties."_

_"I didn't give authorisation for that."_

_"Was I supposed to wait for an hour doing nothing, sir?"_

_Hux's jaw tensed, and his eyes flicked briefly to the person by his side. "This is your fault," he said under his breath._

_The person in black made a noise which might have been a laugh. Phasma couldn't see his (their? its?) eyes, but she could tell he was looking at her. "Good luck, Captain," he said, and began strolling off in the direction he'd come._

_Phasma had a feeling that she was going to need it._

 

When she was running, Phasma's rage and frustration were things she could consider with detached amusement. Out here in the snow it all seemed so small and inconsequential. The First Order was full of angry young people trying to fill their parents' boots; it was only to be expected, with so much to live up to and restore, and so few veterans left to guide them. Out here her task seemed obvious: to uphold the oath she had sworn to the First Order, and endure for the sake of the greater cause.

She paused to catch her breath and admire the way the rising sun made the high cirrus clouds look like blood-red scratches in the sky. The wristband she wore while exercising buzzed, reminding her that her next scheduled task was coming up. Her sense of peace and calm vanished like dust on the wind.

_Endure for the sake of the greater cause,_ Phasma reminded herself, as she started running back to the base.

 

And nothing about life on Starkiller Base, so far, tested Phasma's powers of endurance quite like the weekly command meetings. The weekly meetings made a 10-mile run in the mountains in full snow gear look easy and enjoyable. There were budget reports. There were slide presentations. There was also a basket of muffins, but Phasma didn't eat sweet food, and the basket was almost always empty by the time it got round to her end of the table.

Today must have been a particularly bad day, as the basket was already down to nothing but crumbs when Phasma took her seat in the meeting room, joining Starkiller Base's nineteen other highest-ranked officers. General Hux was present, of course, and Colonel Datoo, looking somewhat the worse for wear after what had apparently been some quite enthusiastic birthday celebrations last night. Kylo Ren was, as ever, distinct by absence. Although Phasma had managed to learn his name, after a couple of weeks of uncertainty, she had yet to work out where he fit into the chain of command. Even her level of security clearance wasn't enough to grant her access to his personnel files, and he didn't seem to be directly involved with the Starkiller project; he just turned up every now and then in order to survey its progress, make use of its training facilities and, as far as Phasma could tell, to deliberately annoy Hux. Maybe they were married, or something.

Once the meeting began, it became clear why everyone had been so keen to get the sugary snacks out of the way. General Hux went through the regular formalities of taking down the names of those present and recapping the last meeting's points with unusual haste, while behind him a couple of techs tinkered with establishing a working holo-link. Plans were in place to install a larger conference chamber with a connection that was permanently on, so that if the Supreme Leader wished to address anyone he had only to summon them; until then, however, even the Supreme Leader had to make do with the usual temperamental holo-calling systems.

After a few minutes of tweaking the transmission parameters, a stable connection was finally made, and a projection of Supreme Leader Snoke's cadaverous head loomed above the meeting room table.

All present stood and saluted.

"Greetings, Supreme Leader," General Hux began. "Status report for week commencing –"

"Have your office send it to me in writing later," Snoke said, cutting him off. "General, my time is precious, as is yours. I have one message to give you: we must build faster."

"Sir?" Hux said, head tilting faster. "May I ask you to elaborate?"

"The New Republic does not know about this base, but it is starting to have its suspicions. They assume that by our very existence that we must be plotting something. Spies and saboteurs have been dispatched to our regions of influence with express instructions to uncover evidence of new weapons and bases. As we increase in power, we can no longer rely on the cloak of distance and obscurity."

Hux remained unmoved. "When this weapon is complete, whether the New Republic knows about it or not will be irrelevant."

"Quite so, but first it must be completed," Snoke said. "The closer we come to readiness, the more aggressive we must be in securing it. I wished to tell you all myself that I have authorised the deployment of additional engineers, troops and staff to the base in order to support its defence. I have your assurances that the weapon will be operational within the next standard year; our greatest priority must be in ensuring that it is not compromised before it reaches that point."

"Understood, sir."

"Good." The holo-image of Snoke abruptly vanished. Hux took a deep breath before sitting down again.

"Well, you heard the Supreme Leader," he said. "We must build faster and increase our defences." The question of _How, exactly?_ hung heavy in the air, but remained unspoken. The Chief Engineer and Chief Supply Officer exchanged uncomfortable glances. Finances was already tapping away at her datapad. 

"Chief Engineer, what's our residential capacity?" Hux asked.

"We're at about fifty percent occupation at the moment," Chief Engineer Volse replied. "Housing new arrivals shouldn't be a problem. Feeding them might be a bit more of a challenge, but we've got lots of dry synthetic rations in storage to tide them over until we get the supply lines sorted. The bigger issue, in my opinion, is deciding which defence project we focus on first: atmospheric shielding, or starting work on the drive that'll let us hop from star system to star system. We were going to put that in towards the end, but it could be useful as an emergency escape system."

Commander Caroon, Head of Finances, glanced up from her pad. "Shielding. It's cheaper and faster to install, and once that's complete we won't need emergency escape systems," she said.

"We've already got basic shields, and being mobile would give us the ability to stay a step ahead," General Yonatai, one of the older and more experienced members of the military staff, interjected.

Phasma's area of expertise was attack, not defence, and although she strove to take in all the details and not allow her eyes to glaze over, she remained silent throughout the ensuring discussion until General Wayde, the Head of Intelligence, raised her hand to add a contribution.

"In the light of all of this," she said, "I'd like to note some reports we've received about incidents of unrest in the town where our mining droid factory is based. I'd considered it fairly trivial, but given the Supreme Leader's concerns, it might be worth investigating."

Hux's eyes narrowed. "Unrest? What sort of unrest? Sabotage? Signs of unionisation?"

"Nothing like that. Mostly low morale," Wayde said. "There's been a lot of grumbling, though, and a definite rise in the number of locals who've been disciplined for seditious comments." She tapped her datapad and held it up, showing a grainy picture of what appeared to be a drawing on a bathroom door depicting a stick figure in a officer's cap kneeling in front of another, much larger figure with added wrinkles and a massive, crudely drawn cock and balls sticking out from its robe. An arrow pointing to the kneeling figure labelled it as 'General Sux'. Phasma noted that Caroon let out a sudden, unnatural-sounding wheeze, and Datoo bit his lip. "I received this the other day. Apparently it's on a wall in a cantina close to the factory."

Hux's jaw twitched, but he nodded calmly. "Thank you for highlighting this, Wayde. Continue to monitor the situation."

Phasma stared at him. "No!"

"What was that, Captain?"

Phasma gulped, a little embarrassed at having spoken quite so loudly. "I mean to say, General, that you are ignoring the vulnerability directly in front of you. This is precisely what the Supreme Leader is warning us about. We cannot afford to dismiss even small rumours. We are receiving more staff, the mission is getting increasingly critical, and we need large numbers of functional mining droids in order to continue excavating and developing the base. If someone deliberately sabotaged the droids - or even if low morale caused the quality of construction to fall - our mission could be seriously delayed. Even low morale in itself is at least worth investigating. I would like to propose a personal visit to the factory and surrounding area to ensure it hasn't been compromised by Republican agitators."

Hux rolled his eyes. "No, Phasma."

"On what grounds, General?"

"Waste of time and resources. You have better things to do than gallivant off on personal missions." She saw Hux mutter something under his breath that might have been I have enough of that with Ren. He looked up at her. "You need to learn the art of delegating, Captain. You cannot personally intervene in every small thing that concerns you. Which reminds me, Volse, is the simulator room operational again?"

"Excuse me, we haven't finished here!" Phasma snapped.

Hux glared at her. "We have finished when I say we've finished. This conversation is over. Now, Chief Engineer. Before you were so rudely interrupted."

 

Phasma fumed throughout the rest of the meeting, contributing when she had helpful things to say, but thinking only of how easy it would be to walk around to Hux's seat, grab him by the scruff of his neck, and slam his face into the polished surface of the table until his nose was streaming blood.

As the meeting finally drew to a close, she was among the first to get to her feet and head towards the door, keen to attend to the next of her tasks. As she approached the doorway, however, Hux moved to block her path. "Captain, please could you stay behind a moment? I'd like a word."

She had no choice but to remain until the others had left, waiting silently as Hux closed and locked the door behind them. He turned to face her, wearing an expression of pure, undisguised contempt.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ talk to me in that way again."

Phasma said nothing. If she stayed silent and took her reprimand with grace, she could still get to the blaster range on time.

"Well? Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Hux didn't actually give her time to respond before he carried on. "I'm very disappointed in you, Captain. You came to me very highly recommended. Admiral Quane spoke of you in glowing terms. I wonder now if he was merely trying to offload you."

"I beg your pardon?" Phasma said, and then immediately felt annoyed at herself for giving in to the taunt.

"Ever since you have arrived here you have been uncooperative, disobedient and shown a flagrant disrespect for the chain of command. I've got enough on my plate with –" Hux stopped himself. "It cannot be allowed to continue."

"Admiral Quane should have told you that I am accustomed to speaking my mind and having my views listened to."

"Perhaps he indulged you too much, then, and gave you the impression that you were entitled to contradict your superiors. Need I remind you of the oath you swore as a stormtrooper?"

"I swore my loyalty to the First Order, sir. Not to any individual, but to advancing the cause as a whole. It is fit and proper that the ranks should obey orders without question, but we must also ensure that those giving the orders are worthy of that responsibility."

Hux's glare intensified. "Are you saying I'm not fit to do my job?"

"No. But I am saying that the way in which you speak to your subordinate officers makes you very difficult to cooperate with."

Hux's eyes flashed with rage, but he remained still. "Keep behaving this way, Captain, and I'll have you demoted and reconditioned. Might suit you better, seeing how keen you are to get your hands dirty in among the ranks."

"Are you trying to threaten me, General?" Phasma said.

Hux stepped forward and took a fistful of her cloak in her hand, pulling her down closer to his level. "Listen, you insolent -"

He never got further than that. Phasma reacted instinctively to the breach of her personal space, grabbing Hux's forearm and wrenching him away from her with enough force that he staggered back and stumbled over his own feet. 

Phasma stepped forward and stood with a foot to each side of his hips, her mask's filter amplifying the sound of her rapid breathing. Hux glared up at her, finally struck speechless, looking furious and just a little bit frightened. The sight of it made a sudden, entirely unwelcome rush of raw lust sweep through Phasma's body, heat settling heavily between her legs, the sensation chased a moment or two later by a wave of anger and disgust at her own weakness. She forced herself to move back and look away, and therefore did not notice the blush spreading across Hux's face or the distinct tenting of his jodhpurs.

"Get out!" Hux snapped, voice cracking on the second word.

Phasma had no hesitation in obeying.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's commented or left kudos! I really appreciate your encouragement and I hope you enjoy everything to come.
> 
> Talking of which - please note the change in rating, because from here on in, it's getting smutty. I'll keep on adding tags as situations occur, but broadly, throughout the story, expect femdom, rough sex, and a somewhat stylised approach to BDSM as opposed to a rigorously realistic one which would include detailed discussion of negotiation and aftercare. (I suspect if you're into this pairing you're into it for the nasty space villain porn and don't mind too much about the realism, but hey, just wanting to make sure everyone's on the same page here.)

Underneath her helmet, Phasma's face was blazing with anger and shame. It had been a very long time since she had lost her temper so dramatically.

She hadn't always been able to control it. When she was a child she was constantly getting into fights. Her father, on the rare occasions he was around, had always found it amusing. The times when she saw him were always formal events, when she would have to comb her hair neatly and wear her junior cadet uniform, and the nanny droids would tut and fuss if she had grazed knuckles or a black eye. But Father just used to smile and say to her, "Well, as long as you won," and maybe brag a little over the port and cigarras about how his girl had knocked the stuffing out of a rival commander's little brat.

Her mother had always been much more disappointed. Mother had told her that anger was like water. A trickling stream was weak; but dam that stream and store the water, and it became something much bigger and more powerful, that when finally unleashed could sweep away all before it. Mother was the best stormtrooper that Phasma had ever known. She was sure she would be very dismayed if she knew her daughter had talked back to and almost struck a superior officer.

Once released from the meeting room, she walked immediately to her next scheduled task, and worked ceaselessly for the rest of the day. A part of her was on constant alert, expecting at any moment that she would receive a notification or get word from a messenger to let her know the consequences of her actions, but there was nothing. She completed her usual rounds of patrol with the gym, went to the gym and sparred with the unarmed combat droid until her shoulders were sore and the droid had several visible dents in its head and chest plates, then returned to her quarters to eat her evening rations while writing out the damage report.

Filing the report for the droid was easy; she'd already sent in two just like it. (Phasma knew the techs grumbled about her habit of leaving her armoured gloves on while boxing, but it was hardly her problem that their droid couldn't stand up to the equipment that she'd be wearing in a real-life unarmed combat situation.) More challenging was the question of how she was going to word her resignation statement. There was no question that she could remain on Starkiller Base, given her behaviour. The lack of any follow-up after this morning's altercation had led her to conclude that Hux was still deliberating on whether to send her away silently in the night, or to stage an elaborate drumming-out ceremony in order to make an example of her. She suspected he was probably vindictive enough to prefer the latter.

If she acted now, maybe she could still leave with some dignity intact. Phasma cleaned the crumbs away from her desk and sent a short, neutrally-worded message, requesting the General's company. Given their ranks and the personal nature of the slight, the best thing to do would be to tender her resignation in person.

The datapad informed her that the message was received and had been read, but there was no reply. Phasma disassembled and cleaned her blaster, and thoroughly tidied what was already a spotlessly clean room, and it was reaching the time at which she would normally prepare for sleep when the intercom by her door buzzed.

"Captain," Hux's voice came through the speakers. "May I come inside?"

Phasma briefly imagined what would happen if she said no, and smiled at the thought of Hux standing forlornly beside the closed door. But she swallowed both temptation and pride, and pressed the button to allow him in.

Hux took off his hat as he stepped into the room. He had some manners, then, if not the ones Phasma valued the most.

"Thank you for coming, General," she said, standing to attention. "I shan't waste your time with small talk. I wanted to apologise for the way in which I behaved earlier today. It was unprofessional and unacceptable."

She took a breath, steadying herself before she started on her resignation statement, but Hux spoke before she had the chance.

"I'd also like to apologise," he said. "I haven't been a very good leader, lately."

Phasma didn't know how to react to that. She'd hoped he'd take the response with grace; she'd expected that he'd be smug and scornful. Contrition was completely unlike the Hux she thought she knew, and she found it rather pleasing.

He sighed, and his hands clutched at his hat a little more tightly. "Just between us officers, I've been under a lot of stress these past few weeks, and I've been taking it out on the staff. Today, I crossed a line."

Phasma shook her head. "As did I," she said. "You would be entirely justified in having me removed from this operation."

"And lose the best leader and trainer of stormtroopers the First Order has? No, Captain, I should be thanking you. You responded to an inappropriate use of force in the manner in which you were trained, and without hurting anything except my pride." Hux smiled slightly, more with his eyes than with any significant movement of his mouth, and it transformed his whole appearance. Phasma felt her heartbeat quicken, and dug her fingertips into the palms of her hands to try and stop it. "It was a wake-up call. I've been petty and self-absorbed, and have not been showing you the respect you deserve." His tongue darted out, moistening his lips. "I would very much like to make amends."

Hux dropped to his knees in front of her.

"General?" Phasma said.

"I am at your command, Captain."

Phasma's body reacted with a sudden rush of heat between her legs. Her mind, however, was utterly aghast.

"Sir, what is the meaning of this?"

Hux looked up at her, face flaring red.

"I –" He swallowed, hard. "Surely you noticed that our argument earlier became somewhat – ahem – heated, and I had assumed because of the invitation to your private quarters…" He was breathing hard, eyes wild. Like prey, Phasma thought, when the pack are bearing down and there's nowhere left to run. Rationally, she knew she should let him go and simmer in his own embarrassment, and they would never speak of this again. A deep, dark, neglected part of her, however, thought it would be a terrible waste to cast him aside when he was all but serving himself up on a plate.

"If I may offer you some advice, sir, you should not make assumptions about what I'm thinking," she said. "In future, I would prefer if you asked."

Hux nodded rapidly. "Captain, I am so, _so_ sorry, this was a terrible misunderstanding –"

He started getting up. Phasma reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down into a kneeling stance.

"Not so fast," she said. "You might have misread my intentions, but I have no objections to your proposal. If this is how you wish to make your apology, sir, then by all means, continue."

"It would be my honour," Hux said, looking up at her through his eyelashes.

Phasma knew he was manipulating her. Whether he had been talking to her old colleagues, or had simply made an educated guess, his earnest expression and tone of voice were too perfect to not be an affectation designed to win her over. But she'd take it, for what it was. Hux was a fool if he thought he could win her over with sexual favours, but that was no reason to throw away the chance of a potentially decent lay.

"Stay on your knees. Hands behind your back. Don't move."

Hux obeyed, chin up and back straight. His thighs trembled a little with the effort.

Phasma stood back and watched him for a moment, before her hands moved to unlatch the armour panel covering her groin. Stormtrooper armour looked complicated, but it was designed to be easy to remove in a hurry, so it was the work of mere moments for Phasma to take off the cup and set it aside on her desk, before undoing the seam of the leggings underneath.

She sat down on the edge of her bunk and beckoned to Hux.

"Come here. On your hands and knees."

Hux dropped into the requested stance and slowly crawled towards her, throwing in a little more sway of the hips than was strictly necessary. The look on his face seemed hungry, and Phasma wondered whether that was all acting, or whether it had been as long for him as it was for her.

She spread her legs until Hux came nearer, until he was nuzzling the inside of her thigh. 

"Did I give you permission to touch me?" Phasma said, taking hold of Hux's jaw and pushing his head back.

"No, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," Hux said, slightly muffled by Phasma's glove squashing his face. She liked that he'd switched to new titles without being prompted. Her cunt seemed to like it too, going by the way she could feel her undergarments already getting sticky and wet. 

Still keeping a firm hold of his jaw, Phasma turned Hux's head first left and then right, like she was examining a prize show animal. He had that pale, sickly, cave-salamander look common among the officer class – she'd doubted he'd ever spent more than a few days at a time on a real, living planet where his dainty skin might get burned – but she very much liked his strong cheekbones and soft-looking mouth. She ran her thumb over his lips, pushing up the top one a little and enjoying the little involuntary grunt he made in response. He made an even more pleasing noise when she grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back so she could look at the tendons standing out along his neck, before she abruptly let him drop.

"Captain, please," Hux gasped.

"Please what?" Phasma said.

Hux paused, biting his lip, clearly trying to choose his words wisely. Perhaps he could change after all. Or perhaps he was just putting on a show. Either way, Phasma was finding it increasingly hard to ignore the way her clit was throbbing and begging for attention. She pulled aside her undergarments and touched herself, wincing a little at how cold her gloves felt against her skin, while waiting for Hux to come up with his next line.

"Nothing, ma'am," he said at last. "I await your orders."

"Good boy," Phasma said. She gestured towards herself. "Use your mouth on me. Make me come."

Hux did what he was told.

Damn him, he was good at this. Phasma hadn't expected much more than clumsy enthusiasm (or worse, a perfunctory attempt followed by swiftly giving up and begging to be made the centre of attention), but Hux was quite the talented little cuntlicker. Using his hands to hold aside her leggings and undergarments, he began by exploring slowly and with evident enjoyment, before beginning to zero in on her most sensitive areas. Phasma was not inclined to be vocal, but Hux managed to read her just from the quickening of her breath and the involuntary bucking of her hips, soon finding the spot and the pace which got the strongest reaction. When he found it, Phasma spread her legs wider, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling Hux close so she could keep him exactly where she wanted him. He moaned when she did that, and when she ground against his face, he moaned even louder. He reached a hand down between his legs to touch himself, which Phasma swiftly pulled away.

"This isn't about you," she growled, tightening her grip on his hair. Hux just moaned again, and slowed his pace a little, maybe as a small act of rebellion, or possibly just because his tongue was getting tired. Either way, Phasma had no objections to the slow, lazy way he licked circles around and over her aching clit and lapped at the entrance to her dripping wet cunt as she rocked her hips up against him.

He was much more likable when he was doing what he was told. Between how skilled he was at the act and how good he looked doing it, it only took a few minutes before Phasma was reaching her peak. She bunched both her hands in his hair as he started sucking hard at her clit, and that tipped her over, all of the tension flowing out of her body in one long glorious rush.

Phasma let go of Hux's hair and fell back against her bunk. It wasn't wide enough to allow her to lie back completely, so she propped herself up on her elbows. She looked down at Hux, and even though she was completely spent, the way he looked with his hair all over the place and his face dripping wet with her come was enough to make her cunt twitch with an almost painful jolt of arousal.

She pushed herself into a sitting position.

"Apology accepted," she said, and patted Hux on the head. He looked at her expectantly. Phasma's gaze travelled down along his body, where she could clearly see what appeared to be a very satisfyingly-sized bulge in his uniform trousers. Still, that wasn't her problem.

She stood up and put her uniform back in order, fixing the armour plating back into place.

"I'm sure you have plenty of other duties to be attending to, sir, so please, don't let me keep you any longer," she said as she did so.

Hux got the message. As Phasma turned back around she saw him finish wiping his face with a handkerchief, before getting to his feet and making a great show of straightening up his uniform, brushing off imaginary specks of dust and rearranging his jodhpurs to make his erection a little less obvious.

He knelt down and picked his hat off the floor. As soon as it was back on his head, it was like a switch had been flipped: once again, he was the cold, stiff, blank-faced General, and not the desperate slut who'd been on his hands and knees for her a couple of moments ago.

"Good evening, Captain," Hux said.

Phasma saluted. "Good evening, sir."

Hux departed without a further word.

Phasma waited until she could no longer hear the sound of his boots clicking along the corridor before she dimmed the lights and began stripping off her armour. She hadn't forgiven him completely, but an orgasm like that certainly went a good deal of the way towards making amends. And it was hard for her not to smile at the mental image of him power-walking his way back to his quarters, throwing himself down on his bunk and furiously masturbating the moment the door closed behind him. Maybe this turn of events was something she could use to her advantage. Maybe it'd all backfire horribly. Either way, for the first time since meeting him, Phasma was starting to think that in one area at least, she might actually enjoy working with General Hux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phasma's parents and childhood will probably be discussed in greater detail later on, but for now I just wanted to explain a little more about my headcanons, for anyone who was interested, bewildered or both by those bits at the start of the chapter.
> 
> Assuming Phasma's about the same age as Gwendoline Christie, she was born before the defeat of the Empire, and therefore before the scheme to recruit and train stormtroopers from birth was developed. In my backstory for her for this fic, her father was an Imperial officer and her mother was a high-ranking stormtrooper. Both of them died during the course of the events of the Original Trilogy; Phasma, like a lot of her generation of Imperial military brats, was subsequently raised by droids and began training as a stormtrooper when she was an adolescent. At least, that's the way I'm imagining it until canon tells me otherwise. :P


	4. Chapter 4

Phasma didn't know if it was the argument or the sex that had done it, but for the next few days, the atmosphere was noticeably calmer. Hux stayed out of her way and didn't hassle her with snippy memos or demands that she drop everything and attend to whatever he was fussing about now, and she in turn did not try and take charge of issues outside of her sphere of authority, and carried out requested tests in the simulator suite (now back to full working order) without hesitation or complaint.

And then there was an explosion in Red Sector 3, and everything went to pieces again.

Phasma was on patrol indoors when it happened, and a fire alert flashed up on her helmet's internal display moments before the siren went off. Maintenance droids with extinguishers streamed in one direction, while disgruntled techs and admin staff came trudging in the other, grumbling about yet another fire drill. Phasma might have been in a similar mood were it not for her helmet's direct connection to the base's security systems, and the fact that there was a map on her display showing a big flashing red mark where the heat and smoke detectors had been activated.

When she arrived at the scene, the situation was already well under control. A technician was poking through the blackened remains of a cleaning droid, while two stormtroopers from the Sanitation detachment were busily tidying up a mess of extinguisher powder and scrubbing scorch marks off the walls. Several maintenance droids bumbled around the scene, some assisting with the clean-up efforts, while one waited anxiously beside the technician, bemoaning the fate of its exploded colleague.

"What happened?" Phasma said.

The droid immediately launched into a string of agitated beeps and whistles. The technician turned round and shushed it.

"As you can see, ma'am, there's been some kind of explosive incident," he said. "Unfortunately, there's too much damage for me to work out what set it off just by looking, and its internal memory banks have melted. I'm just in the middle of running some chemical analysis to see what that can tell me about the cause of the explosion."

Phasma nodded, then turned her attention to the two stormtroopers nearby. "Any other damage?"

"Just superficial burn marks, ma'am," said one.

"And I got a dent in my rear," said the other, turning around to show her the damage done to the armour plating that covered his backside. "Had my back turned when it happened."

Phasma had more questions to ask, but was interrupted by a notification message. EMERGENCY MEETING IN MY OFFICE – WAYDE. Not surprising.

She glanced over the scene one more time, committing the names of those present to memory. TF-4258, NB-7952, and she was pretty sure the technician's name was Gary, although it might have been Greg. 

"I'll have more questions for you later. For now, continue as you were."

"Yes, ma'am!" came three voices (and the whistles of several droids) in unison.

 

General Wayde's office, right at the centre of the small but intense Intelligence department, was a headache-inducing nightmare of screens, projections and blinking lights. In the midst of it all, Wayde stood in front of a cloud of holographic projections, pulling up maps and video footage, while Hux stood just behind her shoulder, his hands clasped behind his back in a stance that Phasma had learned to recognise as characteristic of when he was trying to remain calm under pressure. He glanced up sharply as she entered the room.

"Captain," he said. "We saw from the security monitors that you were the first officer at the scene. What did you find?"

_Not much, because you called me away before I could ask any useful questions_ , Phasma thought, but calmed herself. He was only asking what she knew, and playing detective wasn't her job.

"Very little of use at present, sir," she replied. "The cause of the event isn't immediately obvious. We should know more when a chemical analysis of the droid remains is completed. One of the stormtroopers I talked to was present at the scene when it occurred, but I didn't have the chance to question him thoroughly."

"Which one?" Hux asked.

"NB-7952," Phasma said. "I recommend we take a formal statement from him as soon as possible."

"I was just saying the same to Wayde," Hux said, with a small glimmer of a smile.

"Watch this, Captain," Wayde said. She waved her hand at one of the projected images in front of her. Phasma watched the security footage play out: NB-7952, just as he had said, working alone with his back turned to the little droid busily polishing the floor. A wisp of smoke began to rise from the droid's casing and then, all of a sudden, it blew apart, pieces of its exterior scattering across the corridor while its innards became engulfed in flame. The fire burned itself out within moments, leaving behind a lump of melted wreckage.

"It's got to be sabotage," Wayde said. "It's near to one of our main power cores, and there's a wall panel open for the plumbing repairs your stormtrooper was doing. If the explosion had been nearer to the exposed panel, it could've done some serious structural damage."

Phasma nodded. "This footage matches the story NB-7952 gave me. Do we have any visuals of him interacting with the droid prior to its explosion?"

"No," Wayde replied. "We should still find out what he knows, but right now I don't consider him a suspect."

"We shouldn't be too quick to rule out an accidental cause. Cleaning droids carry a lot of volatile substances, and any droid can generate a lot of heat if its cooling systems are faulty or inadequate," Phasma said.

"Hmm." Wayde scratched her chin. 

Hux glanced over at Phasma. "Captain, it's a good thing you're here," he said. "I've just been reflecting on our Supreme Leader's words at our last meeting, and your suggestion that the reports of sedition at the droid manufacturing plant warranted investigation."

"If I recall correctly, sir, those were mining droids," Phasma said.

Wayde shrugged. "Our cleaning droids are made on the same planet as the mining droids, and most of our weaponry, for that matter. If there's agitators in one town, there could easily be the same in another. Might even be that what we've seen going on at the mining plant is meant to be a distraction from something more serious elsewhere." She looked up at Phasma, and then at Hux. "If you can spare the Captain, sir, I'd think it'd be worth investigating."

"Then we're in perfect agreement," said Hux. "Captain, next cycle I want you to take a landing party to visit the site to make sure nobody is slipping any little extras into our maintenance droids."

Phasma glanced over his head at the looped video of the security footage. She was sure NB-7952 wasn't as innocent as he made out. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that the droid would blow up while he was working alone (stormtroopers other than officers were rarely alone), with his back turned, in such a potentially vulnerable part of the base.

On the other hand, it'd be churlish to refuse what seemed like a peace offering from Hux. It'd be a good training opportunity for her troopers, too – a real mission and a change of scene, but very little chance of it developing into something that inexperienced cadets wouldn't be able to deal with.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "I'll begin making arrangements immediately."

Hux actually smiled at her. It didn't suit him. "Excellent. In that case, please report to my quarters once you've drawn up your plan of action, and we'll go over the manoeuvres together."

 

It was coming towards the period of her sleep-wake cycle that Phasma thought of as 'evening' when she finally had the time to head over to Hux's quarters, although as the base turned more than once every 24 hours, it was technically second dawn. She stopped by Hux's door and pressed the buzzer.

"Sir. Captain Phasma, reporting as requested."

"Enter." The door slid open to admit her.

Hux's quarters were far larger than Phasma's own, not that she minded. This ostentatiousness would have been wholly out of keeping for a stormtrooper, even a high-ranking one. In contrast to the shiny black surfaces and stark lines of the rest of Starkiller Base, Hux's room looked like part of someone's home, with a double bed and a writing desk, and a large window that looked out onto the snowfields, which shimmered pink and gold with the light of the rising sun. When Phasma entered, Hux was sitting at his desk observing a miniature holographic display, but he switched it off and stood to greet her as she came in. 

"Good to see you," Hux said. Phasma watched him walk across the room towards an antique drinks cabinet, its doors inlaid with a carving of the cog-shaped emblem of the Old Empire. "Care for a drink?"

"No, thank you," Phasma said, frowning. "I was under the impression I was here to discuss strategy, not as a social call."

Hux's mouth twitched up at one corner. "Didn’t you once say something to me about never making assumptions?"

He took a crystal decanter of some dark reddish-coloured liquor from a shelf and poured himself a glass. "Anyway," he said, raising the glass in Phasma's direction, "I'm bloody sick of talking about strategy. Aren't you?"

Phasma felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle up. She wasn't quite so socially obtuse as to not have deduced that Hux wouldn't call her to his private quarters if he only wanted to discuss work, but this air of familiarity was new, and not something she felt entirely comfortable with. 

"We're not friends, General," she said stiffly.

"Oh, I know," Hux said, and knocked back half the glass in one gulp. He looked straight at her as he licked the last drops of blood-red liquid from his lips. They were, Phasma would concede, very nice lips. "But I was just thinking about how much I'd enjoyed being between your thighs the other day, and what wonders it seemed to have worked in terms of mutual stress relief, so…"

Phasma felt lust and rage flare within in her equal measure. "So you thought I'd be so pleased to be given a mission that you could just summon me over for a quick fuck? Have you perhaps mistaken my armour for casing? Because I'm not a programmable sex droid."

Hux's shit-eating grin just got wider. "Captain, I'm very aware that you're flesh and blood under there." Whatever was in that drink must be going to his head.

"You know, for a while there I really did think you were sincere when you apologised to me. I had actually thought your recent actions meant that you had learned to respect my experience and my contributions. What a fool I was to think you cared about anything other than getting your way."

Hux's grin turned into a scowl. "And I'd at least credited you with the intelligence to work out that I wasn't inviting you to my quarters to hear your plans for a mission you're perfectly capable of carrying out without any input from me." He finished the drink and put it down on the desk behind him. "If you want to leave, then leave. I won't trouble you again."

Phasma didn't move. Despite her pride and her irritation, she was hot and aching, her body keen for another taste of the pleasure she had experienced before. "It's a good thing I like your face, General, because I really don't care for your mind."

Hux lowered his head in apparent contrition. As before, the fact that Phasma could see right through his act didn't stop it from appealing to something primal within her that wanted to take and devour what was being offered.

She considered her next words carefully.

"I agree that we would both benefit from some kind of arrangement," she said at least. "On the following conditions. In future, I will set the terms of engagement, I will decide when we meet, and you will stop making guesses and issuing ambiguous statements. Outside of these walls and this agreement, we will behave as appropriate to our ranks and duties. Within these walls, however, I have command and authority, and you will do only what you are ordered to do. You may make requests, unless I say otherwise, and you are always entitled to refuse something you find truly unpalatable. I –"

"My safe word is parabola," Hux butted in.

Phasma stepped forwards and put her hand against his throat, gripping hard enough to hold in him in place but not tight enough to choke.

"And you will _not_ interrupt me. You will please me by doing what you are told. These terms apply when I enter your quarters, or you enter mine, when we have explicitly agreed to meet for these purposes; they end when one of us leaves. Is that understood and accepted?"

Hux swallowed, and even through the fabric of the palm of her glove, Phasma could feel the muscles shifting in his throat. "Yes, Captain. Ma'am."

"Good." Phasma slowly took her hand away, caressing his jawline with her metal-shod knuckles. "Take off your clothes."

One thing Phasma had always loved about her armour was the way it made her unreadable, at least to people who hadn't grown up surrounded by other stormtroopers. It meant that Hux couldn't see the way she was smiling as he took off his uniform, and that she had to bite her lip to stop herself from chuckling when he folded up each item of removed clothing and stacked it on a nearby chair. She was probably going to have to order to him to not tidy up as he went in order to make him stop it, and he would probably twitch with discomfort at his quarters in being such disarray. If Phasma wasn't such a tidy person herself, that would probably be very good fun.

Hux finished folding up his undershirt, leaving himself wearing only a pair of plain black standard-issue briefs. He gave her a hesitant look.

" _All_ of them," Phasma said.

Hux nodded. "Yes ma'am," he said, and quickly stepped out of the offending item of underwear.

Unclothed, he was much as Phasma had expected: not small, exactly, but slight of build. Nice calves, but no development in the upper body, as befit a man whose main source of exercise was pacing fretfully around the command room. He certainly looked much less imposing without the advantage of his thick-soled boots and the padding in the shoulders of his uniform tunic.

Hux laid the briefs on top of the little pile of clothing and stood to attention, back straight, jaw tilted upwards.

"Presenting yourself for inspection?" Phasma said, unable to stop a note of amusement from creeping into her voice as she reached out and trailed her fingertips up along the line of Hux's erect penis. He flinched. Her metal gloves couldn't have been that cold, given that she'd been indoors for most of the day, so she assumed it was nervousness. She certainly hoped so.

She removed her cape and held it out to him, and Hux automatically took it and laid it aside with his own garments. She repeated the action with her gloves, enjoying the hungry expression on Hux's face as she carefully undid the fastenings on each. The rest of the armour remained, as did the blaster holstered at her hip, while she traced her fingertips over his neck and jaw, grabbing a fistful of hair with one hand and placing the palm of her other over his throat, so she could feel his racing heartbeat. Even without the tiny motors in her gloves that boosted her grip, she was strong enough to choke him with one hand; she squeezed a little, just enough that now he would know that too, before abruptly letting go. Hux had been leaning into her touch, and when the support was taken away, he stumbled.

"Lie down," Phasma said. Hux looked slightly confused. "Down! On the floor! Now!"

Hux hastily dropped to his knees.

"On my back or on my front, ma'am?"

Phasma's first instinct was to snap at him for talking, but she realised he'd asked in order to avoid having to guess which she would prefer. That was progress.

"On your back," she said, smiling to herself. "More use to me that way."

Hux laid down as instructed, looking up at her with a mix of fear and excitement. His arms were held stiffly by his sides, and Phasma could tell he was doing it in order to prevent himself from giving into the urge to touch himself. His cock stood proudly erect, flushed a deep shade of pink and gleaming wet at the tip, no doubt hot and pulsing and simply aching to be touched. She could sympathise. Her armour and undergarments had started to feel very constricting, and she swiftly removed enough in order to bare herself.

Phasma stroked herself idly, slowly rubbing her fingertips over her clit as she watched Hux do his best to stay completely still and silent, awaiting her next instruction. There was so much she'd love to do. She'd love to mark that soft, pale skin. See how much of a beating he could take before he began to cry. How many orgasms she could milk out of him before he begged for mercy. But not now. Later, when she knew his capabilities better, and she had the chance to plan.

She knelt down, a knee either side of his chest, and ran her wet fingers over his lips.

"Clean them," she said, and watched as he licked her fingers, looking up at her in hope of some reward. She stroked his cheek and he nuzzled into the touch, making a quiet, pleased sort of noise. Phasma allowed him the moment of reprieve before reaching down and sharply twisting one of his nipples. Hux let out a yelp of pain.

"Damn you," he said, glowering at her. Phasma couldn't help but laugh.

"Here," she said. She moved forward so her thighs were each side of his head, and slid a hand under his head to bring it up closer to her groin. "Make yourself useful."

Hux quickly got the idea. He buried his face in her pussy and licked and sucked like his life depended on it, as Phasma bucked her hips forward and ground herself against his face. Perhaps because of the build-up, it took even less time than before for her to reach climax, coming hard enough to make her let out a long groan that buzzed strangely in her helmet. Her legs were shaking a little as she moved back and away from him, grabbing his shirt from the pile of clothing and using it to wipe herself clean before she put her armour back into place.

"Very good, General," she said, leaning back against the nearest wall. "You may touch yourself."

Hux wasted no time in following her suggestion. Phasma watched with quiet appreciation as he stroked himself, one hand working his cock while the other reached between his legs to fondle his balls and the sensitive spot just behind them. He was clearly close before he'd already started, blushing all the way down to his chest, and soon he was moaning softly to himself, his back arching up off the ground as he came.

Phasma turned away to collect her cloak. She fixed it in place and went to leave, but paused as she reached the doorway. When she glanced back over her shoulder, Hux was still lying flat on his back where she'd left him, spattered with come and apparently too dazed to move. "That was highly satisfactory," she said. "I'm pleased with you."

"My pleasure, Captain," said Hux.


End file.
